round 3 overflow post

[starkmodistries.livejournal.com]

Round 3 Overflow Post

This post is for Round 3 fills only. We ask that when a round hits 8500 comments, fillers begin moving their fills to this post.

Format:
SUBJECT LINE -- Round #, short description of fic (ex: "Alex/Hank, lab partners")
--- Link to the prompt
--- Text of the prompt

--- Link to the fill
OR
--- Entire text of the fill

EXAMPLE:
Prompt: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6437.html?thread=1038472#t2038174

Charles/Erik -- Charles is a bakery owner whose most frequent customer is Erik.

Fill: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6437.html?thread=0139482#t4502942

Charles started off the morning the same way he always did...

Comments

FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 196/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

EPILOGUE: But the cat came back




I

It’s blisteringly hot in Versailles in August, the French sun beating down on their heads from a sky that is utterly blue, wide and open and free of clouds. It makes the yellow stone of the Palace seem warm and welcoming, the tiled floors and high arched ceilings of the building old in a way that simply does not exist in America. The weight of it is more like the antiquity of his childhood, the weight of an ancient, dusty and blood-soaked European history.

The conference is due to be held here mid-week, a sideways nod to old world diplomacy. Magneto arrives early, takes the opportunity to wander the building with only one or two attendants before the main mass of people and press arrive. It’s… serene. He absorbs the deep quiet of the place into his bones, only the far-off voices of the staff and delegates to disturb him.

Outside the gardens roll away from the house in every direction, green and well-watered by the groundsmen, the long glittering expanse of the Grand Canal, the sweet-scented Orangerie. His footsteps echo, slow and steady, his helmet - sleek and grey-metalled again instead of the red, stripped back to bare necessities like everything else about him - weighs heavy on a head that no longer wears it full time. It had taken him a long while to decide to trust Emma enough to go without when back at the Capitol, but he does, now. He might even consider her a friend, though he would never say as much to her face, and she would never want him to.

They turn back towards the front of the building, having exhausted the lower floor, and he’s just waving Warren forward to ask about the schedule - Rogue has long since been promoted, but was far better at hovering unobtrusively than Archangel, which is ironic in an assistant who can fly - when they turn the corner back to the entrance hall and the man and woman talking there turn to look at them, and it’s Charles.

Magneto stops dead, as though his feet have somehow become one with the bedrock below, rooted to the earth as everything - stops - his breath catches mid-word, hitching painfully in his chest along with his heart. Charles looks just as surprised to see him, though surely he must have known Erik would be here. He’s wearing a smart suit at least, instead of one of his cardigans, something grey in a light summer fabric, surprisingly unrumpled considering how little attention Charles usually pays to his appearance.

Erik had told himself he was over it, over this man, but then he has always known that was a lie. It only takes one look at Charles’ familiar face, slightly tan and with more freckles than before, handsome and speechless, lips parted in soft surprise, for Erik to feel everything inside of him seize up, all of his moving and mechanical parts coming to a halt, like a wound-down watch.

Charles recovers first, dips his head respectfully, but those blue eyes do not leave his, follow up through his lashes, cutting through all the bullshit Erik has built for himself over the past two and a half years. “First Mutant,” he says, and though his voice is quiet, proper, it makes Erik’s blood sing.

“Professor Xavier,” he replies, polite, so polite, and bows his head just a little.

“First Mutant,” the woman says, and it’s only then that he realises it is Moira McTaggert here with Charles, standing beside him and looking between the two of them with curiosity written across her intelligent face, eyes flicking back and forth between him and Charles.

Charles.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have things I must attend to.” Erik waves to Archangel again, though it is hard, so hard to tear his eyes away from Charles Xavier, stood confident and strong in the entrance hall of the Palace of Versailles in the summer sunshine that pours in through the open doors. He must be attending the World Conference for Integration, there is no other reason for him to be here. Erik is due to give a speech, later, and the thought of giving it in front of Charles is - surprisingly troubling.